


astronomy in reverse

by brahe



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Cooking, Declarations Of Love, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, MY FAVE, Morning After, Morning Cuddles, Morning Routines, Romantic Fluff, Showers, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Dancing, Water Fight, chef kanan, every fluffy domestic trope, god so much fluff, honestly just like, midnight snacks, morning after breakfast, washing the dishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brahe/pseuds/brahe
Summary: His hands are still at her waist, palms wide and warm where they’re tucked up under the shirt she’s wearing, and she brings her arms up to loop around his neck. He starts them on a sway, timed to a silent beat, and she pulls out the band keeping his hair back, likes the way it feels when it brushes against her arms, when she runs her fingers through the ends. They’re watching each other, locked into this moment by their gazes. She loves the color of his eyes, blue-green like the oceans she visited as a child. He looks at her, love so clear in his eyes, and it scared her, once, how much he loves her.or,eight moments from theGhostin the early days with kanan and hera





	astronomy in reverse

**Author's Note:**

> ah wow ok where to start. this is a series of domestic scenes (in my docs it's titled "domestic kanera scenes") that are set post-new dawn but before the series & before they pick up any of the kids. the scenes are in no particular order, probably aren't chronological, and are generally unrelated to each other. it's basically just pieces of their lives together. mature content is mostly in the 4th part.
> 
> so many things inspired this. the first 3 are mostly about food which lmao my life but also because i was reading through freddie prinze jr's cookbook and that happened. i listened to a lot of songs during the month i worked on this, but some scenes were particularly inspired by songs for those curious:
> 
> 3\. just the way you look tonight by frank sinatra  
> 4\. nobody - selena gomez  
> 5\. never stop (wedding version) - safetysuit  
> 9\. kind of love - maala 
> 
> this is the first time i've really focused on just writing kanan and hera and their relationship and i had such a good time with this. it's soft and sweet and they love each other so muCH and i just wanted to give them some early moments of happiness.
> 
> as ever inconocible is the greatest - she helped so much with the ins and outs of these scenes and also with coming up with the final list of the scenes to do and id be lost without you ilysm & i hope you enjoy :)
> 
>  
> 
> title & lyrics at the beginning from venus by sleeping at last, which im shocked to find is the first time i've used ryan's lyrics as a title because they're all sO amaziNG

_like a telescope_

_i will pull you so close_

_till no space lies in between_

_and suddenly i see you_

_i was a billion little pieces_

_until you pulled me into focus_

_astronomy in reverse_

_it was me who was discovered_

 

1.

"Maybe if you made less of a mess when you cooked," Hera says, dropping the last dish into the sink, "we wouldn't have to spend twenty minutes doing the dishes every night."

Kanan grins. "Why? Is there something else you'd rather spend those twenty minutes on?" 

Hera rolls her eyes, but pushes up her sleeves and comes to stand next to him at the counter. "Wash or dry?" 

"I'll wash," Kanan says, rolling up his own sleeves and waiting for the water to warm. He glances at Hera as he starts the first dish. "So what did you think?" 

He sounds almost shy, which is ridiculous, Hera thinks, because everything he's made her has been amazing. "Delicious as always," she tells him, and her heart swells at the quick, beautiful smile he gives her. 

"Honestly, I don't know how you survived so long without me," he laughs, passing her a plate. Neither do I, she thinks, and smiles at the side of his face. 

"I certainly spent less credits on food," she says. Kanan scoffs. 

"Three things in life are always worth the credits," he tells her, serious as if imparting a great wisdom. "Good alcohol, good food, and - well," he stops, lets his gaze linger on Hera for moment, eyebrow raised. 

"Ugh, Kanan!" Hera scolds, although she's holding back a laugh, and she rolls up the towel enough to hit him with it. 

"Hey!" He turns to her, face full of mock offense. She shrugs, smirking, twisting the towel around in her hands until she's sputtering, the front of her flight suit suddenly damp and covered in bubbles. When she looks up, Kanan's got the most smug expression she's ever seen and lingering soap bubbles on his hand. 

"Did you just - !" She's half-glaring at him long enough that he starts to squirm a little. Good, she thinks, and serves you right, and then she's leaning over him, gets a hand in the soapy water and flicks it up at him, bubbles landing on his nose. 

His face scrunches up and he laughs, a bright, happy sound she never hears enough, and Hera nearly beams, always proud when she can get him to laugh. 

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be?" he says, follows it with another splash of water aimed at Hera, and then they’re fighting, Kanan splashing water at Hera and dodging the swats of her rolled up towel. The front of Hera’s flight suit is soaked, and she’s sure Kanan hasn’t escaped totally dry, either. 

"Okay, okay!" he says, laughing. “I surrender!" 

Hera crosses her arms, triumphant. “I accept your surrender,” she says, grinning, and they go back to washing. They're standing closer together now, though, their elbows brushing against each other, and Hera smiles to herself. This easy familiarity between them came so fast, so quickly became something she doesn't know how she lived without. 

When Kanan hands her the next dish she knocks her hip against his, and he bumps her back, passes her a mug to dry, and then they're swaying into each other until Kanan hands her the last of the dinner dishes and they’re all dry and put away. 

Hera’s clothes have dried some but they’re still uncomfortably damp and soapy. “I need to change, now,” she tells him, heading out of the kitchen, but that good, happy feeling is still with her. 

“Need any help with that?” Kanan calls, and she pauses briefly in the doorway, shrugs. 

“Maybe,” she says, takes off down the hall, and her laugh echoes loud and bright off the walls when he catches up to her, grabs her around the waist and picks her up, swinging her around. 

“Kanan! Put me down!” she shouts, the words mostly lost in her laughter. Kanan holds her tighter to him. 

“Never!” 

She wiggles against him. “Seriously, your shirt is soaked,” she says. Pressed against it like she is, the damp is seeping into the back of her flight suit. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, sets her feet back on the ground but doesn’t let go of her waist. She steps forward only to be jerked back against him. 

“Kanan,” she says, half laughing, half scolding, and he presses his nose to her neck, sighs a little. Hera leans back into him. “Come on.” 

She slides her hand under his at her waist, threads their fingers together, and tugs him the rest of the way down the hall, to dry clothes and their bed.  


 

2.

Hera wakes up slow, warm and a little bit worn out, a comfortable weight behind her. Kanan's drawing shapes onto her hip with the tips of his fingers, almost light enough to tickle, and she smiles, taking a deep breath before she rolls over to face him. She lets her arm fall against his shoulder, her fingers immediately in his hair. 

"Good morning," she says, presses their foreheads together. Kanan smiles at her, the one that makes him look so in love, her favorite. 

"Mm, sure is," he agrees, pushes lightly back against her forehead, brushes their noses together. Hera's laugh is light, barely louder than a breath, and she settles herself closer against Kanan, their legs slotted together, Kanan's arm thrown over her side, his tracing on her skin resumed. 

"How'd you sleep?" he asks, sleep slow, nose pressed to the top of her head. 

"Great," she tells him, doesn't need to see his face to know he's grinning now, but looks up anyway because she loves the way his eyes light up when he's proud of himself. "You?" 

"Oh, wonderful," he says, tightens his arm around her waist and pulls her until he's on his elbows over her. He's still got that self-satisfied smile, and Hera's biting back her laughter as he presses a series of kisses along her neck. "I recently started this new habit," he continues. "It’s really great, I've never slept better." 

Hera's laughing outright now, pulls his face to hers so she can kiss him, quick and kind of blocked by her smile. Waking up next to him every morning has quickly become a habit, the happiness in the air around them so addicting. 

"You'll have to tell me more about it," she says between kisses, and she feels more than sees his smile. 

"Hm, I'd love to," he says, and then Hera's stomach growls, loud in the quiet of the room, and Kanan laughs, forehead landing on her collarbone as his shoulders shake. 

"Guess I'm hungry," she says, half-shrugs against the sheets. Kanan drops from his elbows, his weight resting on top of her a new but familiar kind of satisfying. 

Kanan looks up at her from where his chin is propped up on her chest. "I can fix that for you." 

Hera raises an eyebrow. "Oh?" 

"I meant breakfast," Kanan tells her, laughter in his tone. "Alderaanian toast, if you want." 

Hera looks up at the ceiling, debating, her fingers playing with the loose strands of Kanan's hair. On the one hand, she'd love to keep Kanan wrapped up the sheets longer, doesn't want to lose the contact, the atmosphere, the warmth. But on the other hand, she really is hungry, and Kanan's toast is kind of to die for. 

"If you don't mind," she says, looking back down at him. 

"'Course not," he says, smiling at her, and pushes back up on his hands. He kisses her once, short and sweet, before rolling off the bed, and Hera watches him move around the room, openly enjoying the view. He tugs on a pair of lounge pants and tosses her a wink over his shoulder before he heads out the door. "First round in fifteen." 

Hera lays back against the pillows with a happy sigh. She stretches out, a relieving pop in her back and a satisfying pull of her muscles, and honestly cannot think of a better way to wake up.

The sheets on Kanan's side are still warm, and she sprawls out, takes up the whole bed and maybe she feels a little ridiculous with the way she's smiling at the ceiling, but she doesn't do anything about it. 

She lingers a little longer before the smell of cooking sugar makes its way down the hallway and into the room, and she gets up, grabs one of Kanan's shirts from where it was tossed over the dresser, and heads down to the kitchen.  


  
3\. 

They're dozing sometime not long after the midpoint of the night cycle, lazily tangled together. Hera's got her fingers threaded through Kanan's, their joined hands resting over her heart, and Kanan's sleepily tracing the tattoos on her lekku, a faltering rhythm as he fades in and out of consciousness. She's comfortable and warm and a little hungry, eyelids heavy every time she blinks, and she could happily fall asleep like this, Kanan wrapped around her side. 

"Hey Hera?" he says, some time after that, a soft whisper against the skin of her neck. She turns her face towards him. 

"Hm?" 

"Are you hungry?" he asks, and she opens her eyes, meets his soft, sleep-blue gaze with a raised eyebrow. 

"Maybe a little," she says, matching his tone. "Why?" 

"Because I'm kind of starving," he tells her, smiles at the quiet laugh he startles out of her. "And I'm gonna get something to eat." 

"Sounds good to me," she agrees, and neither of them moves for a bit after that, until Kanan untangles his fingers from hers, pushes up on his hands and climbs over Hera's body to get out of the bed. 

Hera groans, rolls over and sits up slow. "You could've just waited," she says, rubs at her eyes. Kanan's grinning. 

"Yeah I know," he shrugs, fishing his old robe out of the closet and tying the sides together around his waist. Hera gets up, finds one of Kanan's shirts on the floor and kicks it up into her hands, pulling it over her head. 

"What are you making me?" she asks, throws him a smile over her shoulder, and he laughs a little, pulls her to him with his hands on her waist, spins her around to face him. 

"Hm, I don't know," he says, bends down to kiss her, slow but brief. "How hungry are you?" 

Hera shrugs, follows him out of the bedroom and the down the hall. "I'll eat whatever you were planning," she tells him. 

"Pancakes," he says, looks over his shoulder to her briefly. 

"Sounds delicious," she smiles, joins him at the counter by the stove. "Want some help?" 

He looks at her for a moment, shifts his gaze around but lets it linger, and he looks halfway to awed by the time he meets her eyes again. 

"Sure," he agrees, flashes her that beautiful, genuine smile, and gets in her space, reaches over her for the flour and the sugar, passing them to her as he tells her how much to measure. 

They're standing too close together - they accidentally bang elbows when Kanan starts mixing, which ends up with a puff of flour ending up all over Kanan and the counter. 

Hera laughs and he blinks, surprised; Hera gets a cloth to wipe away the white streaks on his face, still laughing at him a little. 

"Real professional move, there, Chef," she says, and he huffs, looks down at the flour on his robe and shrugs. 

"If you don't make at least a bit of a mess when you cook, you're not doing it right." 

"Hm, that explains all the dishes, then," Hera nods, as if suddenly understanding a complex problem, and Kanan chuckles. 

"Something like that." 

They get back to the batter after that. He gives Hera the wet ingredients, takes the time to set up the frying pan. Cooking for someone else so intimately is still a relatively new concept for him - before, it had been mostly behind a wall with someone else's recipes, but now he uses his own, adjusting them as he goes, and he's sitting across from his customer when she tries his dishes each time. 

Cooking with someone else, well. That's something he's never done before. 

 

He looks over at her, at the way she's wholly concentrated on getting the ingredients mixed together evenly, and he thinks he could maybe do this for the rest of his life. 

"There," she announces, holds the bowl out for his approval. "All done." 

"Great," he says, takes the bowl to add the dry ingredients and dropping the batter in the pan. "First batch should be up pretty quick." 

He expects her to go sit, but she stays next to him, pushes herself up on the countertop next to the stove and gently knocks her heels against the cabinet as he flips pancakes. The last one lands on the plate and she grabs it, rips a piece off and grins at Kanan's indignant sputtering when she eats it. 

"That's not how you're supposed to eat them," he tells her with a pout, and she laughs, hooks her heel around his hip and pulls him to her. 

"Guess I just can't help myself," she says, throwing her arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair. She drags him down for a kiss, slow, savoring, and he melts a little into her, leans his hands on the counter at her hips. 

"I need to finish the pancakes," he tells her between kisses. 

"Hm, if you have to," she agrees, untangles herself from him slowly, and smiles at little at how reluctant he looks to step away from her. 

She eats the rest of the pancake as he starts the next round, tearing off little pieces and watching his hands as he pours the batter, fidgets with the spatula as he waits for the first side to cook, flips the pancakes in smooth, practiced motions. Before long the bowl of batter is empty, and there’s sizable stack of pancakes on the plate between them. 

Kanan reaches up into the cabinet next to Hera, pulls down plates. “Can you get the syrup?” he asks, and she hops off the counter, meets him at the table with the syrup. 

They sit next to each other in the booth. Hera grabs two pancakes for herself and nearly drowns them in syrup. Kanan scoffs. 

“You can’t even taste them with that much syrup,” he tells her. She shrugs, cuts a piece with the side of her fork and runs it around in the puddle of syrup that’s collected in the bottom of her plate. 

Kanan shakes his head at her, but they’re quiet after that, eating in a companionable silence. Their legs are tangled together under the table, their shoulders pressed together, and it’s comfortable, familiar like Hera never expected it would be. 

She sits back when she’s finished, leans over to press a kiss to Kanan’s cheek. “Excellent as ever,” she tells him, grabs her plate and slides out from behind the table. Kanan watches her go, enjoys the way the hem of his shirt rides up a little as she walks. 

“Hm, really hit the spot,” he agrees, kind of not paying attention. 

“We can freeze the leftovers, too,” she says, “save them for later.” 

Kanan hums in agreement, settles into the booth a little as he watches Hera rinse her plate and fork, dries them and puts them away. There’s a rhythm in the way she moves - always is, he’s noticed, a kind of grace and power present even in the smallest tasks that draws him in. 

“Dance with me,” he says, surprising her and himself. He gets up, comes to stand behind her, grabs onto her waist when she turns around. 

“What?” 

“Dance with me,” he repeats, and she allows him to tug her away from the counter and into the middle of the room. His hands are still at her waist, palms wide and warm where they’re tucked up under the shirt she’s wearing, and she brings her arms up to loop around his neck. He starts them on a sway, timed to a silent beat, and she pulls out the band keeping his hair back, likes the way it feels when it brushes against her arms, when she runs her fingers through the ends. They’re watching each other, locked into this moment by their gazes. She loves the color of his eyes, blue-green like the oceans she visited as a child. He looks at her, love so clear in his eyes, and it scared her, once, how much he loves her. 

Still does, sometimes. 

She settles her head against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady under her ear. His arms shift to wrap tighter around her waist, and he drops a kiss to the top of her head before turning, resting his cheek between her lekku. They’re not dancing, not really - more just shifting their weight back and forth, but it’s soothing, relaxing, loving, and they lose track of time like that, wrapped in each other in the middle of the kitchen.  


  
4\. 

The latest op has left them a filthy mess, Hera muses as they step back into the Ghost, finally out of the wind and away from the mud. She can feel the mud starting to dry where it's stuck to her skin, looks down at the coated pantlegs of her flight suit with a sigh. It'll take some work to get all this out of her clothes. 

They leave muddy footprints where they stand in the cargo hold, and she holds out an arm to stop Kanan when he goes to step forward. 

“Oh, I don't think so," she tells him. "Do not track mud all over my ship unless you want to be the one cleaning it up." 

He holds his hands up in surrender. "What am I supposed to do, then?" 

"Take your shoes off, for starters," she says, leaning against the cargo door to tug her own boots off, and her socks, too, when she sees how muddy they are. She debates the likelihood of dirt falling from her flight suit on the way to the shower, and decides it's fairly low. 

"Anything else?" he asks, wiggles his eyebrows at her, and she scoffs, hits her hand against his shoulder. 

"Not while you smell like that," she says. "Come on." 

She leads him to the fresher, pulls him through the door after her, and starts a water shower since they're planetside with a decently sized reservoir. The air is quickly warm and damp, the mirror slightly fogged over. 

"Why, captain," Kanan says, in that ridiculous flirty tone that straddles the line between simply hilarious and actually successful, "are you asking me to shower with you?" 

"Shut up," she says, and tugs his shirt up and off, flakes of mud falling to the floor as it shifts. "You can get the rest." 

She leaves him to it, strips out of her own clothes and folds them as well as she can to shake out and wash later. 

 

The water is soothing and warm when it hits her skin, and she closes her eyes, tilts her head back and enjoys it, already feeling cleaner and less irritated. Kanan comes in, then, closes the shower door behind him and sealing them into this space, this moment. He stands behind her, runs his hands over her lekku, over her shoulders, and she steps out of the water to give him a turn, grabbing the soap and a cloth. 

She turns around to watch him as she washes the mud from her arms, watches the water soak into his hair, run down his arms, his chest. He pushes his hair out of the way and tilts back to rub at his face under the stream, smearing the lines of mud on his cheeks. 

"Here," she says, stepping closer into his space and runs the cloth along his face to scrub away the dirt, careful of his eyes. He’s watching her with a familiar, intimate kind of intensity, and she takes her time working down his chest, washing the dirt off his skin. 

He takes the cloth from her when she’s finished, nudges at her shoulder to turn her around, and delicately rubs at her lekku, following the cloth with his hands. She sways into him, relaxed and a little aroused, and he laughs, a low, deep sound nearly lost under the noise of the water. She lets her head fall onto his shoulder, mouths lazy, open kisses against his neck. 

“Feeling better?” he asks, pleasantly smug, and she hums. 

“Much,” she says, turns around to press against him, kisses him slow and deep. 

“Hm, still gotta wash my hair,” he tells her, and she lets him go, leans out of the way when he reaches for the shampoo, and she watches him scrub the soap into his hair, fingers itching to touch. He cracks an eye open, smirks at her from under the spray as if he knows her thoughts. It’s likely he does, Hera thinks; she knows he’s opened himself up more to the Force lately, come back to it more and more, especially like this. 

He rinses the last of the soap out of his hair and reaches again for Hera, rubs his thumb against her hip-bone. She brings her hands to his hair, continuously fascinated with the way it feels when it's wet. Kanan chuckles, an affectionate, happy sound, always so indulgent of her curiosity. 

The water starts to run cooler not much later, and Hera reaches behind him to turn it off. The air is cool on their damp skin, and she steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel to dry off quickly. 

 

Kanan follows her to the bedroom, towel wrapped around his shoulders to catch the drips from his hair. He catches her hand and spins her around into a kiss reminiscent of the one in the shower, sensual and soft, and he walks them back to the bed, follows her down. 

She pushes him back, settles herself across his waist, and he brings his knees up, resting his thighs against her back, holds onto her hips, but he lets her look, lays silent and watches her in return. She looks down at him, drinking in the sight of him. The towel is bunched up next to his head, his hair still damp and splayed out against the pillows, dark on the white of the sheets.

He's got more of a beard than usual - she runs her thumbs along his jawline, enjoys the way the short hairs feel against her skin. He'll shave it away in the morning, she knows, but she thinks about now and tonight and where they're headed, rocks a little against him and wonders if maybe she can convince him to keep it a little longer. 

She brings her hands to his chest, absent-mindedly traces the lines of his muscles, admires the way his skin looks like caramel against the sheets, rich tan under the green of her hands. He's so beautiful, she thinks, not for the first time; she could sit like this for hours, fingertips criss-crossing his chest, his attention entirely, patiently, on her. 

When she meets his gaze, there's the intensity she has been expecting, but it still takes her by surprise every time, to have someone so wholly focused on her and her pleasure. 

She rolls her hips against him, pushes down just enough, delights in the flutter of his eyelids, the way he tilts his head into the pillow. The pads of his fingers press into the skin at the dip in her hip-bones before he slides them slowly up her sides, over her breasts, stopping at the base of her skull to rub at the skin where her lekku join it. Her arousal spikes suddenly from something distance to something immediate, pressing, and she speeds up her motion a little, already so close. 

"Wait," Kanan gasps, and he holds his hands still, presses his knees to her shoulder blades. She pauses, looks down at him, his eyes a little wild and hair in disarray. "Wait," he says again, breathless. "Let me - please...can I - " 

_Of course_ , she thinks, raises onto her knees and sinks back down onto his cock, grinding her hips as she settles, her breathy sigh over his low, long groan. 

She resumes the same rhythm from before, steady and slow, but they're both already halfway there.  
Kanan runs a hand down her lekku, lightly pinches the tip, and the other drops back down, rubs quick, small circles into her jil, and she arches against him, grinds down hard, and comes with a hitch in her breath, a sigh, falls forward a little, hands on his chest.

He pushes up into her once, twice, and then follows her over the edge, falls flat against the bed, arms out wide at his sides, chest heaving under her hands.

For a moment they sit, Hera leaning back against Kanan's knees, Kanan looking up at the ceiling, blissed and eyes mostly closed.

“Mm,” he says, “perfect. Time for a nap.”

Hera laughs, and Kanan cracks an eye open to look at her, smiles at the happiness he can feel in the Force around her.

“Tired already?” Hera laughs, but she gets up, her knees popping when she shifts off of his lap. She grabs his discarded towel, cleans them well enough for now, and flops onto the bed beside him, trapping one of his arms under her back.

Kanan rolls over and uses his pinned arm to wrap around her torso and tug her close enough that he can tuck his face into her neck, mouthing lightly across her shoulder, her collarbone.

“Not if you aren't,” he says, rough and slow, and she debates it, tilts her head to encourage his movements and considers for a moment the second round he's offering. He's always so good to her, for her, attentive and giving and so enthusiastic.

“Hm, tempting,” she says, “but maybe later.”

“Suit yourself,” Kanan says with a chuckle, rolls over on top of her, holding half of his weight on his elbow at either side of her shoulders. He kisses along her jaw, down her neck, gets halfway to sucking bruises into her skin before moving on to the next spot. “I think,” he starts, pausing to suck at the dip in her collarbone - “that I could spend,” here, a kiss between her breasts - “an entire day,” and here, a longer pause, a quick kiss to her lips and that intense, passionate gaze locked to hers - “making you come.”

She flushes, squeezes her legs a little where they're bracketed against Kanan's waist, her eyelids fluttering.

“Don't be making promises you can't keep,” she warns, and he kisses her again, longer, deeper, messier.

“I never do,” he tells her, something proud and determined in his low, rumbling tone, and she loses herself for a moment in the thought of it, in the look he gives her, and she tugs him back down into a kiss.

“I'll hold you to it, then,” she says against his lips, feels his answering grin. The moment lasts a heartbeat longer, and then he's dropping down onto her, startling the air out of her in a surprised, airy laugh.

“I really could sleep, though,” he says, and she laughs, brings her hands up to run through his hair, the strands still damp.

“Sounds good to me,” she agrees, and sometime between one breath and the next they fall asleep, Kanan's hair threaded through her fingers and his body a warm, pressing weight on top of her.

 

 

5.

Kanan wakes up first, like usual; years and years of quick naps and long, fearful nights made a light sleeper out of him, and he hasn't quite trained it out. Sometimes he doesn't think he'll ever be able to.

He sits in a semi-consciousness for a while, keeps his eyes closed and simply breathes. In another life, it would've been easy to slip into a mediation, but here, now, he keeps mostly out of the Force, focuses on the physical sensations - on the soft blanket around his hips, the warm weight of Hera pressed against his side.

Here in bed on the _Ghost_ he feels safer than he has in a long, long time. Before he opens his eyes every morning he knows what he'll see, knows how the first half an hour of every day will go. Hera's given him so much, but _this,_ this security in both body and mind, is something he can never repay.

Before Hera, he never - he never wanted, never _could_ stay in one place too long, with the same person too long. Sure, being alone for so long hurt, but losing people like he did hurt so much _more._

Hera rolls over, then, stretches her legs out and her arms over her head, turning into Kanan's chest, her eyes still closed and a soft smile on her face. She's got her fingers in his hair a moment later, fiddling with the tips, and he wraps an arm around her waist, pulls her closer to him.

“Morning, love,” she rasps, tucking under his chin. He smiles, feeling something like disbelief, something like love, something like always. He kisses the top her her lekku.

“Good morning,” he says. “Sleep well?”

“Very,” Hera tells him, and he imagines the way her lips quirk up when she uses that tone. He's so overwhelmed by her in this moment, surrounded by her entirely, and he doesn't want it to end.

“How long have you been up?” she asks, pulls back far enough to look at his face.

Kanan shakes his head. “Not too long,” he tells her. She traces the lines on his face, looks like she's not going to believe him, but she doesn't say anything. She worries, he knows, but she doesn't press, either, and one day he'll tell her everything, he's sure. One day soon.

“What's the plan today?” he asks, voice still rough from sleep. Hera shrugs, a small movement against the bed.

“Nothing,” she says. “I was thinking…stay in bed.” She pushes at his shoulder and rolls over so that she's fully settled on top of him. “What do you think?”

Kanan takes a moment to look up at her, his entire field of view suddenly filled by Hera. She's so beautiful - he doubts he'll ever get used to it, to her. He rubs his thumbs against her bare hips, thinks about how she flipped his entire life around, brought him back up out of the bottle, out of his wallowing and depression and bitterness. _Where have you been,_ he thinks, shifting his gaze around her face. _What did I do to deserve this?_

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea, captain,” he says, sliding his finger up her sides until she's wiggling against him, fighting back giggles. Her smile is like sunlight, reminds him of days sitting in the sun at the Temple gardens, safe and carefree and so peaceful.

“Stop, stop!” she manages through her laughter, and Kanan smoothes his hands against her back in surrender. She flops against him, still a little out of breath, but the Force glows with her happiness, at Kanan's fingertips without even a conscious thought, and hasn't that been a long time.

“ _Force_ , I love you,” Kanan breathes, a confession, a promise, an explanation, a vow. Hera sits up a little, jerky in surprise, her eyes wide. Kanan reaches up with one hand, cups her jaw, rubs his thumb under her eye, shifts his hand up and runs it down one lek. That's what this is - love. So much love, so sudden and strong, so entirely consuming.

Hera's looking at him, flicking her eyes between his, and that bright happiness shudders just a little, dims, and Kanan _knows_ , knows her fears and her reservations, but he can't - he can't lie to her. Never.

“It's okay,” he says, soft, barely louder than a whisper. “It's okay. You don't have to say it back. You don't have to feel the same way. I just - I just thought you should know.”

Which is maybe a little bit of a lie, because he didn't mean to say it right then, right now. But he did and he doesn't regret it, won't take it back.

Hera shakes her head, sighs. “No, it's - I _do_ , it's just - it's complicated.”

Kanan smiles, leans up to kiss her, quick and chaste. “It's okay,” he repeats, quiet, gentle. “You don't have to say it.”

And she doesn't - he can feel it around her, around them, this hesitant brightness growing slowly, steadily stronger as every day goes by. She offers him a smile in return, a little more subdued, and he holds the sides of her face as she kisses him, slow and sweet.

 

(Later, alone, when they've finally made it out of bed and she's standing in the shower while Kanan's fixing lunch in the kitchen, she can't stop hearing it, that reverent whisper, can't stop thinking about his face, so open and sure. It's not the words, not entirely - sure, she's spent a good while thinking about the way _Force_ slipped off his tongue, smooth and wondrous and without any of the grief or hatred she's come to expect with such a topic - it's the _way_ he said it, so full of awe but like a statement of fact, a simple announcement. She knows enough about to him to know it weighs heavier than it sounded, but there was just something…something in his eyes, in the way he was so quick to accept nothing in return, in the way he held her after, careful and so tender.

And later, after that, when she takes a seat in the dejarik booth and he slides her a sandwich with that shy smile he always gets when he makes her food, she sees it different this time, sees the love in his eyes so clearly now, sees it in that smile and the sandwich and she wonders how much of this she's already missed, how long it took him to work up to telling her.

The sandwich is easily one of the best she's ever had, and the bright, proud grin she gets when she tells him such is just another way he's telling her, and she can't believe it's taken her this long to notice the amount of _love_ he pours into everything he does, every look he gives her. It's humbling and terrifying and half of her feels undeserving, feels unworthy of this great love she knows he's capable of.

And so it takes her a week, a week of thinking about this, about him and them, about whether or not she can give him what he needs. Her commitment to the fight is strong, consuming, maybe, but somewhere along the way she's found herself committed to him, too, invested in his happiness, in love with his smile and his food and his spirit. It takes her a week of arguing with herself, wondering if she can have him and her cause, if he would stay with her even if she couldn't ever admit to him the truth of how she feels, if she wants all of the burdens she's learned come with love. The answer is _yes_.)

 

6.

It’s been slow this week, their only job a supply run for more food and fuel. Hera’s kept the _Ghost_ parked in a field on the outskirts of Lothal’s capital, far enough out of sight of an Imperial patrols, but close enough that they can a bike into town when they decide to take the trip.

Hera checks the chrono when she gets up, rolls onto her back with a sigh. They should go today - there isn’t much left in the pantry, and Hera doesn’t know how much more of a break they’re going to have.

Kanan snakes an arm around her waist. “Later,” he says. Hera chuckles.

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“Hm, but I can hear you thinking. You’re already determined to do something.”

She curls her hand around his arm _,_ turns her head to look at him. “The supply run,” she tells him. “We need some food.”  
Kanan sighs, a long, dramatic sound. “I suppose,” he concedes. “Now, though?”

“The markets will set up in an hour,” Hera says. “If you want anything good, we should be there early.”

Kanan flops back onto his pillow with a disgruntled sound. “I hate when you’re right.”

Hera kisses his nose. “I know you do,” she smiles, and wiggles out from under his arm. Kanan rolls over, half-heartedly reaching after her, props his head up on his hand as she gets dressed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, and she looks over at him, rolls her eyes.

“Come on,” she tells him, headed to the ‘fresher. “Get up or we’ll be late.”

 

Two minutes later and Kanan’s joining her in the ‘fresher, shifting her out of the way of the sink so he can wash his face and grab a toothbrush. She finishes brushing her teeth as he starts on his hair, something that never fails to distract her. She watches as he tugs a brush through it, quick, repetitive motions until it slides easily through, pulling it back into the ponytail he always wears. He throws her a smirk in the mirror when he catches her looking, and she startles back into her own routine, picking up a damp cloth to run over her lekku before sliding on her cap.

“Leftover pancakes for breakfast?” she asks from the doorway, catches his nod.

“Three for me,” he calls after her, and Chopper joins her on the way to the kitchen. She pats the top of his head.

“We're headed into town today,” she tells him, pulling the pancakes out of the freezer. He turns on the oven for her, and she slides in a sheet pan with the pancakes on it. “Do you need anything?”

He beeps at her, rolls around a little, and she laughs.

“No, you don't need new wheels. Or legs. They work just fine and you and I both know that.”

Chopper knocks into her leg on his way to sulk in the corner, more of a gentle tap than anything else, and she shakes her head after him.

Kanan appears just before the pancakes finish heating up, comes up behind Hera and grabs onto her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and watches as she makes two mugs of tea.

“Is that rek?” he asks, and she nods.

“‘Course,” she tells him, shakes the tea bag out and drops it into the sink. “We need to pick up some more today, though.”

“Mm,” Kanan agrees, but she doesn't think he's paying much attention to her words, busy instead with pressing little kisses along her neck.

She tilts her head to the side but knocks her hip against his. “Seriously,” she says, although there’s laughter in her tone. “Come on. Eat and then town.”

Kanan squeezes her hips. “Yes, ma’am,” he says with a laugh, presses a kiss to her cheek before he reaches over her for the plate of pancakes fresh out of the oven, and she follows him to the table, shaking her head with a smile.

 

7.

Hera’s sitting on the bed in their room, novel open on her holopad, enjoying the slow end to her day. Kanan’s in the shower and Chopper’s just finished his routine checks on the ship, the specs set to her holopad, and she checks them briefly, noticing nothing urgent, and sets them aside for tomorrow.

She’s two chapters into her novel when the door slides open and Kanan comes in, hair damp and towel slung around his waist. Hera looks up, watches the muscles of his back shift as he bends down to grab a pair of sweatpants off the floor, sliding them on. He wraps the towel around his shoulders so it catches the drips of his hair, and he turns to Hera, all beautiful, golden skin and long, dark hair, gives her a grin as he comes to the bed, climbing over her so he’s resting between her legs, chin propped up on her stomach.

She puts the holopad on the table next to the bed and looks down at Kanan, lets her hands wander to the wide, shower-damp expanse of his back, tracing shapes into the warm skin.

“I love you,” he says, soft, smiling, and Hera smiles back.

“Love you, too,” she tells him, and her hands wander to his hair, threading through the damp strands.

“Do you wanna - “ he asks, though he knows her answer, already moving to reach for the drawer in the table, pulling out an old hairbrush.

“‘Course,” Hera agrees, more of a mumble of consent than anything else. Kanan resettles against her, handing her the brush and wrapping his arms around her, between her back and the mattress. He drops his forehead to her chest, synchronizes their breathing, and maybe he lets himself get a little lost in the Force, in Hera and the way he's surrounded by her at every level.

Hera takes the brush, runs the fingers of her free hand through his hair, over his scalp, and he lets the last of his weight rest on her, letting go entirely.

His hair is mostly tangle-free, but she keeps her strokes careful until she's sure she won't pull it and jolt him out of this calm, peaceful state he's in. It doesn't take long for the brush to glide through, and she loses track of time as they lay here, easy and comfortable. Kanan drops off a few times, comes back around with a tightening of his arms around her waist, a hitch in his breathing, and a kiss to her chest.

Hera always cherishes this time - he was so hesitant to let her this close, emotionally, and she loves playing with his hair, yes, but she loves how relaxed he gets, too, loves that she can get him to this state of stress-free pleasantness.

She can tell when he falls asleep for good, and she puts the brush on the night table, runs her fingers through his hair before shifting him enough that she can lay down, keeps his head pillowed on her chest and wraps her arms around his back, falling asleep to the steady sounds of his breathing.

  
  
8.

By the time the Imperial supply station goes up in flames, they're back on the _Ghost_ , hovering in the atmosphere so Hera can watch the explosion, the flash of yellow-orange-white reflecting in her eyes, lighting up her face, and yeah, okay, maybe Kanan's watching her instead of the fire. She's beautiful, like always, so incredibly captivating, but here, now, there's a kind of joy in her features, the dark satisfaction of a successful strike against an enemy, and she looks a little dangerous, fresh from the fight and still a little wild, giddy.

He's standing behind her seat, and he can't help the way his hands keep drifting to her, from light touches on her lekku to a hand on her shoulder, thumb rubbing against her collarbone. She tilts into him, leans back against her seat and cocks her head to the side, exposing the side of her neck, and it's a tease, an invitation - Kanan runs his knuckles lightly along the soft skin from her jaw to her shoulder, is maybe about half a second from moving around to the front of her seat when she jerks back on the joist, sending them straight up through the atmosphere. Kanan makes a sound in surprise, clutches the back of Hera's seat to stay upright, and he can see the light reflection of her grin in the glass of the viewscreen.

Outside, the blue turns to black turns to white streaks, and as soon as they're in hyperspace Hera flicks over to auto-pilot and climbs to her knees, turns around in the seat, her arms draped across the top of the back of it, knees pressed to the corners of where the armrests meet the seat. She reaches out, slides two of her fingers between Kanan's belt and the fabric of his pants, tugs just a little.

“Something you wanted?” she asks, looking up at him like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing, and Kanan bites back a groan.

“Yeah, maybe,” he agrees, half-distractedly fiddling with the tip of one of her lekku, and then she's pulling him down, kissing him like she's suffocating, and this, _this_ is that wildness she hardly ever allows. She threads a hand in his hair and tugs, bringing him down closer to her height, and she’s determined to ride the high of the fight, the chase, the success as long as it lasts.

Kanan pushes against her, gives as good as he gets – he groans when she pulls at his hair, and he can feel the hair tie come loose, still keeping the ponytail but barely. “Come on, come on,” he says, muffled against her lips, and she pulls away from him to swing a leg over the side of the chair, standing up next to it, tugging at her shirt for a moment, and then his hands are on her waist, kisses hot and sloppy, and they walk backwards until Hera hits the wall.

Kanan gets her face between his hands, and they’re standing close enough their chests brush when they breathe, but he’s holding her far enough away to look at her, his eyes darting around her face, his thumbs brushing the skin under her eyes, and he’s so, so overwhelmed.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, breathes it with his exhale, and maybe she doesn’t want to be slow, be gentle right now, but he’s so mesmerized by her in this moment, right now –

“Would you marry me?” he asks, surprises himself with it, and maybe he's asking just to know, maybe he's asking for real, it doesn't matter.

Hera looks at him, and if she’s shocked it doesn’t show – her eyes are still dark, but they’re calculating now, locked to his but seeing past them, and Kanan feels like she’s searching his soul for something. For this breath and the next they stand still and silent, stars streaming by behind Hera and casting her in a flashing backlight, and Kanan doesn’t know what she’ll say, but he won’t take it back, what’s to now what she says _right now_ , when she’s open and unguarded and in love with him as much as she is with the fight.

She tilts her head towards him, leans forward until their foreheads are touching, tightens her hand in his hair “Yeah,” she says, a little breathless, and it's the best thing Kanan's ever heard. “Yeah, I would,” she repeats, voice steadier, stronger. She pulls him down into another kiss, and that's enough for him, for her, for them.

**Author's Note:**

> also news, i made a sideblog for my writing, catch me on tumblr at [brahewrites](https://brahewrites.tumblr.com)


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